


Rest In Pieces, Pieces Of My Mind.

by everybodyhasroots



Series: ASOIAF Drabbles & AUs [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Jon Snow, F/M, Post-BAOTB, Reflection, book canon, hints at a darker jon, platonic Jonrya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodyhasroots/pseuds/everybodyhasroots
Summary: Jon shuts his eyes, throwing his head back against the wall to stop the thoughts. Jeyne Poole. The steward's girl. She used to call him 'Lord Stark's bastard' and nothing else. She was the one who coined the nickname 'Arya Horseface.' He's never liked her much. He liked her far less when she stood before him, when Mance Rayder pushed her forward with the proclamation; "your sister, Lord Snow. As promised."-After Jon Snow kills Ramsay Bolton and takes back his home, his head is muddled.





	Rest In Pieces, Pieces Of My Mind.

Jon looks down at his hands.

Big hands, his father used to say. Smith's hands, lumber's hands, warrior's hands. They are caked in dirt and blood, cracking between the fissions of his skin. Shaking like a babe. He curls them, blunt nails digging into skin, trying to work some feeling into his flesh, but all he can feel is the cold.

He's always cold, now; a yawning frigid pit opened up inside him ever since Melisandre had brought him back from death. Sometimes he wishes she hadn't. The world is darker now, like his grey eyes have clouded over, and he is always so cold. He thinks other people are starting to see it too. Val looks at him uncertainly sometimes, and Eddison doesn't catch his eye anymore, like he's afraid of what he'll find there.

Jon doesn't care. He came back only for one person.

 _Little sister_. Oh, how he had longed to see her again. They had looked so alike when they were younger, the only ones with the Stark look. While their siblings sported the flaming hair and river-blue eyes of house Tully, Jon and Arya had the wild dark hair and grey eyes like their father, grey like rain, like smoke, like the metal of a sword.

His sword isn't grey anymore, he remembers. It's red. Red with a bastard's blood. He'd heard once that a bastard bled black, but Ramsay Snow's blood had been red enough when Jon had sunk his blade into his belly.

He hadn't washed, still. He was covered in mud all over, and some of his wound still wept, and he knew he ought to wash them off but he couldn't move, just tremble on his pallet like a babe, mind blank and cold rage curling inside him.

_It wasn't her._

Jon shuts his eyes, throwing his head back against the wall to stop the thoughts. Jeyne Poole. The steward's girl. She used to call him 'Lord Stark's bastard' and nothing else. She was the one who coined the nickname 'Arya Horseface.' He's never liked her much. He liked her far less when she stood before him, when Mance Rayder pushed her forward with the proclamation; "your sister, Lord Snow. As promised."

_That is not my sister. Her eyes are brown, you fool, brown as dirt._

He sees a wolf with silver eyes in his sleep sometimes, a mankiller leading a pack through the Riverlands. It is her, he knows, knows his sister is not lost to him, but nothing can quell his fury. 

_I got myself killed for Jeyne Poole. Jeyne, not Arya. Stranger, not sister._ He feels ill.

She looks a sight, too, the Poole girl. Her skin was white as the snowfall outside, her brown eyes blank and watery, and there was crumbling black flesh where the tip of her nose had been, lost to frostbite. Her hair was pale, almost white, like she hadn't seen the sun in years, and beneath the throat of her black wool dress, bruises spotted her ivory throat, black and blue and hideous. 

Alone in his room, Jon wonders what has become of Arya. Arya Underfoot, _little sister,_ with her eyes like polished metal, quick to fill with water, her mouth quick to grin, especially at him. Seeing Jeyne in such a state makes his mind fill with terrible thoughts. Where are you, little sister? Littlefinger did not find you, Ramsay did not find you, Mance did not find you... was she still in the Crownlands? Or perhaps she'd made her way to the Riverlands, or the Stormlands? Maybe she'd fetched a ship across the Narrow Sea and was sunning out her days in one of the Free Cities, Pentos or Lys or Tyrosh? He hopes she is, even though he wants to see her more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. He wants to see her again, mess her hair, call her little sister...

Hundreds of miles away in a temple in Braavos, No One who's name is Arya Stark tosses in her sleep, voice calling for a half-brother that is lost to her.


End file.
